


Pulling Them Off

by celli



Category: NCIS
Genre: M/M, Undercover As Gay, leather pants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-06
Updated: 2009-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-18 03:12:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and McGee "play gay."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulling Them Off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catwalksalone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwalksalone/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Conversations About Pants](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12704) by [catwalksalone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwalksalone/pseuds/catwalksalone). 



> Thanks to [](http://kageygirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**kageygirl**](http://kageygirl.livejournal.com/), [](http://shetiger.livejournal.com/profile)[**shetiger**](http://shetiger.livejournal.com/), and caro for betaing.

It's not the first undercover assignment Tony's been on that required him to "play gay." It's not even the first one since he got to NCIS. But it's the first one with McGee, and he knows--he could have told you from day one, minute one, second one--that it's the one that will sink him.

He steps into the bullpen in his costume-slash-uniform-slash-bait look: jeans two waist sizes too small, with a strategically placed rip right at the top of his right thigh. A gray, soft t-shirt, snug at the arms and the abs. It's all topped off with a necklace of tiny interlacing handcuffs and just-out-of-bed hair, both thanks to Abby.

Tony steps into a showy turn, throwing his arms out for full effect. "What do you think?" he asks the room as a whole. "Am I gonna knock 'em dead, or what?"

"Only with your ego," Ziva says dryly. Tony winks at her, then looks over her shoulder at Abby, who is beaming like a proud mama. Gibbs is off finalizing plans in MTAC, so the only person left is--Tony slowly turns his head--McGee, who is half-hidden behind his desk.

"Pretty enough, you think, Probie?" he asks, putting his best smirk into it.

McGee eyes him up and down with a quirk of his eyebrow that belongs on a Vulcan. "I'm sure someone will think so," he says.

Behind them, Ziva laughs. "Show him your outfit, McGee."

Tony's been thinking about how McGee might look since they decided this was the best way to find their suspect, since he headed off to grab his own clothes. But whatever he was expecting is completely dwarfed by reality.

Reality, which includes black fucking leather fucking pants, an untucked white dress shirt, and--

"Are you wearing _eyeliner_?" Tony blurts.

McGee turns red.

"Shut up, it's perfect," Abby says from behind him. "Tim, are you going to trust the straight guy or me?"

Tony flinches at "straight guy," but nobody notices.

A shout from Gibbs breaks up the conversation, thank God, and McGee falls into step beside Tony as they head out of the office.

"So what are you, my rent boy?" he asks with a look down at Tony's jeans.

"Says the man in the leather pants that cradle his butt," Tony snaps. "Were they out of red?"

"You wish," McGee says, and adds a little attitude to his walk to the elevator.

Tony is not getting out of this with his career intact. He's just not.

***

"I think he's over by the bar," McGee says, and basically crawls into Tony's lap to get a discreet look.

Tony's hands come up to steady him, hesitate for a second, and settle tentatively on leather-clad thighs. Tentatively, and then McGee jerks forward, and it's his fingers on McGee's ass.

McGee squirms some more, Tony breathes shallowly and tries to list the cast of Casablanca in order of appearance, and--

"Nope."

"Nope?"

McGee shakes his head, which of course moves him further inside Tony's personal space. "Definitely not him."

"Damn _it_ ," Tony says, shoving McGee back onto the bench next to him.

"Patience, DiNozzo," Gibbs says in his ear.

"Yes, Boss," Tony says. He desperately wants something serious to drink (something in the absinthe family maybe), but he signals the waiter for another beer instead.

He's barely bothered to check out the club--not only has he seen his share of gay bars in the personal life he doesn't share with law enforcement coworkers, he's actually chased a subject through this club before, on a drug stakeout gone bad. He can tell at a glance it's all dark paneling and decent drinks and twinks bending a pose over pool tables and framed art posters and well-used bathroom stalls. It's the clientele that makes a bar like this. Like, you know, former sailors who smuggled weapons out of Norfolk.

Or partners in disguise whose leather squeaks as they wriggle around in the booth next to you. Not because, God forbid, they're aware of how incredibly dirty they look in leather and eyeliner, or because they've guessed how much you want to drag them onto the floor of the booth and start ripping at their shirt, but because they're doing their job and checking out the patrons.

When the beer arrives, Tony downs half of it, glaring McGee down when he opens his mouth to protest.

This time, Tony sees a likely candidate first, and pulls McGee to him with a fist tangled in his shirt. "Nine o'clock, just passing the men's room," he whispers into McGee's ear (and earpiece).

"Got him," McGee says after a half-second. "Definitely Hines." They pull apart, and Tony smooths the front of McGee's shirt down.

"Sorry about that, McPermanent Press."

McGee knocks his hand away.

They settle into surveillance mode; McGee bills and Tony coos for the next half hour or decade or so. Hines makes no move to do anything but lean against the bar and check the crowd out. Tony grits his teeth as McGee laces their fingers together on the table.

"Is he glued to that bar or what?" He pulls his hand away and picks up his water glass. He focuses on keeping the glass steady up and down, and wipes his chilled palm across the back of his neck.

"Wait," McGee says suddenly, and Tony jerks with the effort of not turning around to look. "He's heading back to the restrooms."

"After him, but keep your distance," Tony hears through his earpiece. "Ziva, can you get to that door?"

Tony slides out of the booth and braces himself to slide his arm around McGee's shoulders.

"Are we drunk or horny?" McGee asks, slipping a thumb through one of Tony's belt loops.

"I vote both," Tony says grimly, and tugs McGee across the room and down the hall toward the restrooms.

He expects Hines to head past the restrooms to the fire exit, or to cut them some slack and actually meet with a contact, or anything that will end the torture part of the evening and move on to something easier, like maybe an exchange of gunfire.

So naturally, _naturally_ , Hines is just in the damn bathroom, checking them out over his shoulder from where he stands at the urinal.

There's no time to look awkward or even check each other for cues, and thankfully McGee knows it as well as Tony does. Tony shoves McGee towards the far corner of the bathroom--an illusion of privacy, but in reality still keeping Hines and the door visible--and keeps shoving until McGee is up against the wall.

"I didn't promise you an unoccupied bathroom," he says throatily, and hopes Ziva and Gibbs get the message.

"Like you keep your promises anyway," McGee shoots back, and there's something so comforting about Probie's cranky voice coming out of this hot, slightly exotic persona that Tony almost doesn't freak out as he leans in to kiss him. He does put a hand over McGee's ear, though, in what's probably a failed effort to block the pickup on the earpiece, and feels McGee do the same.

It's ridiculously brief for something Tony knows he'll dream about for months or more. Leather riding up against denim, his free hand on the wall with their combined weight against it, and McGee's little finger slipping under Tony's necklace. Oh, yeah, and McGee's tongue in Tony's mouth.

Wait, what?

Tony can hear Hines snickering his way out the door, and he knows they need to head out after him, but he takes an extra few seconds they don't have to pull back from McGee and do something he hasn't done all night--look him in the eye.

McGee wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shoots Tony the Vulcan eyebrow again.

Tony waves a finger. " _Later_." And then he's off down the hall after Hines.

***

The resulting gunfight is, in fact, almost a relief.

***

There are plenty of opportunities for both of them to change back into this morning's suits once they get back to the office. Gibbs and Ziva tag-team Hines in interrogation until nearly midnight, and nobody's making them watch, nobody's making them stay together on the other side of the glass, nobody's making them stand there next to each other and watch the inevitable confession spill out.

Every time Tony shifts his weight, his leg rubs up against McGee's. By the time Hines is wrapped up and they're following the rest of their team back down the hall, McGee matching him step for step, he's so turned on it's almost an out-of-body experience.

"Paperwork tomorrow," Gibbs says when Ziva makes a beeline for her desk. "Good work, team."

Tony grins over at McGee, because crazy bathroom kiss or not, they still did good.

McGee is leaning over his desk, grabbing his wallet from a drawer.

Tony's vision sort of grays over, and the next thing he knows for sure he's in his car, pulling into the visitor's spot in McGee's parking lot like this is any other pizza-and-DVDs bonding night. His hand freezes as he goes to shut the engine off--what if this whole thing, with the leather and the little finger and the tongue, really was just a determined effort on McGee's part to do his job right? Maybe Tony's having a sudden attack of lust-induced delusionality. It's been known to happen.

He looks over. McGee is standing next to his own car, his face unreadable.

Tony turns the car off.

***

McGee holds the apartment door open behind himself for Tony and leans back around him to lock it, effectively trapping Tony against the wall.

Tony swallows. "Seems to me we've been here already tonight."

"As a rule, I prefer fewer people watching, though. Or listening in."

"Pretty pedestrian for a guy in leather pants."

McGee crowds Tony further up against the wall, and rests one big, warm hand along the side of Tony's neck, so he can feel the pressure of the links on his necklace pressing into his skin. "Is that so?"

This time it's McGee who kisses Tony first. There's one last moment that's hesitant, almost tender, and then an entire evening's worth of foreplay catches up with both of them and they're yanking each other closer. Tony doesn't have the coordination to even try the buttons on McGee's shirt, so he slides his hands underneath and pulls it as far up McGee's chest as he can. He grinds the heels of his hands against McGee's nipples, which shocks a moan out of the mouth pressed to his. McGee's fingers dig into Tony's neck as he turns him deeper into the kiss.

Tony shoves McGee backwards in the general direction of the couch. The few seconds he has to step back to get McGee's shirt over his head seem like forever, and he takes it out on a cuff that sticks. A button hits him square in the nose, and McGee starts to laugh.

"Watch it, McGiggles," Tony says.

McGee laughs harder. Tony checks the distance to the couch and basically throws McGee down on it, landing on top of him hard enough to knock the wind out of both of them.

"Still gonna laugh?" Tony says, ignoring entirely the grin on his own face.

McGee gives him the eyebrow again, and Tony groans. He's going to associate that with sex for the rest of his life, and where will that leave him when McGee drags him to the next Star Trek movie? The only solution, really, is to kiss McGee until he doesn't have the muscle control to even twitch his eyebrow, and he slides up, biting his way up McGee's shoulders and neck until he can sink his teeth just hard enough into McGee's lower lip.

McGee bucks his hips up into Tony's, and his hands dig hard into Tony's sides. Tony makes the kiss softer and sloppier, sucking on the lip he just bit until McGee's breath comes in short, painful pants.

Pushing away from McGee and standing up takes superhuman effort. But he makes it, and skims out of his own shirt in one quick breath. He reaches for the button on his jeans, and McGee's hands clench at his side, his tongue darting out to moisten his swollen lips. His eyeliner is smudged, making his eyes look even darker as they go wide and unfocused.

Tony's zipper practically peels itself down, and he's barely got enough control to toe off his sneakers while shoving his jeans and briefs down. McGee is scrabbling at the front of his pants--now that the shirt is out of the way, Tony can see that they actually lace up, Jesus, and even more blood drains out of his head. He takes a quick second to get rid of McGee's socks and shoes, and stops short on his way back north.

"What did you--how did you--stop it. Stop right now." Tony pulls McGee's hands away and looks down at the solid tangle that is supposed to be the fastening to McGee's pants.

He thought the pants were going to kill him, but this isn't what he meant.

A few experimental tugs make it clear that there's no way these things are coming loose any time soon, and it doesn't help that McGee is trying his damnedest not to actually hump Tony's hands while he tries. Tony slaps one hand over his face, slides the other down to press hard at the base of his cock, and tries to think.

"Where are your car keys?"

"Oh, my God, are you _leaving_?" McGee squeaks.

"I'm going to make so much fun of you for that later," Tony tells him. He sees the keys on the floor a few feet away and risks future arthritis by knee-walking over to them.

"No, seriously--" McGee is saying as Tony fumbles his way back.

"McGee?" Tony wrestles open the Swiss Army Knife McEagleScout carries clipped to his car keys. "Shut up. And hold still."

McGee stops moving entirely, or tries, but Tony can feel a faint, continuous tremor running through him as he puts a hand on McGee's hip to keep him in place. Their eyes meet for a moment, and then Tony slides the knife under the first knot.

He keeps his eyes on his work as he separates the laces piece by piece, as he closes the knife and sets it aside, as he gently tugs the leather away from McGee's skin. The waistband leaves red marks along McGee's stomach and hips, and Tony brushes his thumb across one, as gently as possible.

McGee breathes out a sigh, and his hips shift up against Tony's hand again.

Tony carefully edges the pants as far down as they can get without pulling McGee off the couch. McGee's cock is thick and fully erect and even warmer than Tony was expecting. He wraps his hand around it, and hears his name again as he bends down to wrap his mouth around the head.

McGee comes with one hand digging into Tony's shoulder and the other leaving marks on his own thigh as he holds on through it. They're both going to have marks in inexplicable places tomorrow, Tony thinks, wiping the corners of his mouth.

McGee blinks rapidly at the ceiling, fighting for breath. "Whoa," he finally says.

Tony grins.

"Shut up," McGee says without bothering to look at him. He pushes Tony down and comes off the couch in one surprisingly smooth move, landing on his knees as Tony goes down onto his back.

Tony sucks in a deep breath as McGee's hand brushes his cock. "I don't want you to think this is typical," he starts, and for some reason McGee snorts at that, "because I usually last longer than I'm about to."

"Tony," McGee says patiently, his office lecture tone at complete odds with the quick, almost painful tugs on Tony's cock, "as far as I can tell, we started having sex at around eight o'clock tonight. Your manliness has been proven in full."

Tony laughs, and doesn't stop laughing even when the orgasm hits. He's left with sleepy giggles at the end as McGee wriggles out of those damn pants, wipes them both down with Tony's discarded shirt, and collapses on the floor next to him.

"I knew this assignment was going to break me into tiny little pieces," Tony says, mostly not laughing as he says it.

Next to him, McGee's voice is halfway to laughter too. "Leather pants, man."

Tony shakes his head, and turns so his forehead is resting against McGee's shoulder. "No," he says, and nothing else.


End file.
